Goddess
by Lanfear2
Summary: Updated Chapter 8. Phew. Finally found the time. It's a wonder how I managed to write this chapter in the first place, with all the things going on. Synopsis: What is happening to Neo? And what has Persephone done to him?
1. An indecent proposal

GODDESS  
  
Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me. They are all property of the Wachowski brothers and Warner Bros.  
  
Warning: This is a seriously goof-off work I've decided to do to ease my writer's block. So bear with me while I attempt some REALLY BAD WRITING here . The situations are going to be smutty, the lines are going to be corny. But what the heck..I'm having fun! So here goes.  
  
This 'What if' story came about after watching The Matrix: Reloaded. I couldn't in the world fathom why Persephone asked for just one little kiss from Neo for betraying her husband. If I were Persephone, I would sure as hell heck ask for a LOT more than one little kiss.  
  
Chapter 1: An indecent proposal  
  
Rated PG-13. (Later chapters might be rated R for smuttiness).  
  
There he was, in the flesh himself, standing in front of her. Impassive, emotionless, like a pale statue decked out in vivid black. He was a lot larger than she had thought he would be, perhaps 6 feet tall, with a frame so lean she could tell he had not a spare ounce of fat on his body. This was of course obscured by his clothes, which were almost monastic in design, so that he came off as rather prudish in appearance - like a cleric who had just taken his wows, only with lots more style. He had a button-up collar that went up to his neck, showing no skin whatsoever, and below, his coat parted like a cape to reveal black woolen trousers. His eyes were hidden by a pair of trendy dark glasses, though what he was doing with dark glasses in a restaurant, she had no idea, other than to perpetuate a further sense of style.  
  
Or maybe it was a new monastery fad thing.  
  
Persephone supposed that was what came off from being The One. She had met previous Ones before in her long, very tired life. Although they had all looked dissimilar, they were all bonded by the same curious apathy, a deadly confidence that could only come from possessing near- invincibility. Oh yes, she had heard about this particular One. He was new in his role, as most Ones are wont to be, seeing as they never lived that long in their roles. He would find that out soon enough.  
  
She had read his bio. He was older than the previous Ones they had freed - 35, or so it said. He didn't look 35. He looked younger. He also looked ethnic, not fully Caucasian. She wouldn't be able to tell unless he took off his glasses. Maybe a little Polynesian/Asian mix, it was hard to tell. Whatever it was, he was exotic looking, like so many citizens of Zion. She wondered how he had found Zion, that mass of slavering, debauched revelry, with its own peculiar sense of grandeur. She had no wish to ever find out, not that she would be able had she wanted to.  
  
I am A.I, she thought. I am a program created by the Gulf nation of 01 to entice and seduce men over the centuries. I am fully sentient and I know my purpose. I would have it no other way.  
  
Now why did that make her so sad?  
  
He was accompanied by his Zion cohorts; who were dressed similarly in black, with the requisite dark glasses and humorless stares. Morpheus she had heard about - the errant ship captain who was a pain in the everyone's butt. Trinity, she found rather more interesting. She was his lover, they said, though she looked more like his sister. She was beautiful in an unconventional way. Her body was trim and sleek, her hair was cut short to make her appear androgynous. In fact, they complemented one another perfectly. She had masculine overtones; he had feminine undertones. When they melded together, they would flow into one continuous Jungian stream, like an anima to an animus, neither knowing which was which.  
  
She found it so perverse she wanted to clap her hands in glee.  
  
Trinity had loved him, so they said, before she had ever met him. It was destiny written in her prophecy, she had been programmed to do so.  
  
Lucky her.  
  
Persephone wondered what that felt like. Love that was programmed. Love written in code. Oh yes, she had no doubt Trinity loved him, and he her. But still, she wondered what it was like to be manipulated. And by someone who was none other than her husband's nemesis, that curious sentient who called herself the Oracle.  
  
And what about this? This fascinating attraction she was feeling for him now. Was she being programmed to do so as well? Was this part of her purpose?  
  
Neo. The name rolled off her husband's tongue liquidly. It was so simple and practical, yet suggestive and seductive. Neo. The name opened up myriad possibilities, like delightful secrets in a Chinese puzzle box. The name suited him to a tee. She wondered what it would feel like to actually say his name on her tongue and luxuriate in its sensuality.  
  
Oh, but she was becoming as debauched as Zion.  
  
Her husband was prattling off again, of course; that pompous prick who liked to affect all things French. Oh, but he could talk. And he was talking, of course, on and on, the syllables flowing into one another like codes tumbling over a hillock, all about cause and effect and his philosophical bullshit. She had stopped listening long ago. He was so boring he was becoming the very bourgeoisie he despised.  
  
And then he spoke. Neo, the One himself. He was saying something to her husband, like 'No thank you.' And 'You know the answer to that question.' He spoke without inflection or emotion. She liked his voice. It was young, and she found it sexily appealing.  
  
She was finding everything about him appealing.  
  
In front of her, the food lay untouched, all in pretty little arranged pieces. She rarely ate anymore, it was just for appearances. Beside her, one of the twins passed her a glance that would have been lascivious had it been permitted. She detested them, these albino, dreadlocked henchmen of her husband's. They were Ghosts from a previous version of the Matrix, and that was their specialty - intangibility. Some people - both women and men - found them attractive, though it was not a closely guarded secret that they only had eyes for each other. That fact amused rather than repulsed her.  
  
Some too would call you a vampire, my dear, her husband would sometimes remind her.  
  
And you the King of Hades, she would retort. This obsession they had with human mythology ..it was unhealthy. They would have to create their own mythology. She knew though why they continued to be obsessed with all things human. After all, she thought wryly, they created us in their image.  
  
Now he was doing his cake trick. Yes, her husband, the Merovingian, trafficker of information, Emperor of the Underworld. Stooping low enough to play sexual programming games, like a teenager with a spy camera in a ladies' locker room. Trying to impress his visitors with his programming panache. It was so old that she wanted to roll her eyes. The last time it was a leg of lamb. And before that, a bowl of soup. This latest victim was a platinum blonde with an amazing décolletage. He always chose blondes, especially the ones with a bad dye job, just to spite her.  
  
Later, he would go to her, this orgasmic Barbie with the brittle hair and green eyes, just for the challenge of it. He knew that she knew about his little love trysts; it was almost as though he was daring her to do something about them.  
  
And maybe I will, my love, she thought.  
  
Sadly though, she understood the reason as to why he had to have his little releases. When you have been married to someone for centuries and reigned as King and Queen, disillusionment settled in over time. It was the curse of being immortal. His little games were what kept him aflame. And the why of course. The knowing of the why gave her power.  
  
That's why the mainframe sets out to have us deleted when we have passed our prime, she thought. To keep us from getting too bored of each other.  
  
All too abruptly now, her husband was ending the meeting. With a threat, naturally, as with the nature of all things connected to him. 'Tell the fortune-teller,' he was saying to Morpheus, 'her time is almost up.' With a slinky grace, he got up to leave.  
  
'Where are you going?' she asked him, knowing the answer fully well.  
  
'Please, ma cherie, it is causality. I drink too much wine, therefore I must go take a piss.' He nodded at his dubious guests. 'Au revoir.'  
  
Go then, my love. She had already made up her mind.  
  
She watched the visitors being escorted to the elevator. Neo. She liked watching him. He moved with an easy confidence, a cat-like grace. She wondered how he would look fitted in tight knitwear. If things went according to her plan, she might have to wonder no longer.  
  
They would be in for a surprise, these visitors from Zion. She would make sure of that.  
  
Arising from the table, she exited the restaurant through a back door and took a staff elevator down to the ground floor, where she knew they would arrive. She wondered what he thought of her. Was she beautiful to him? She knew she was beautiful to look at, there was no doubt about that. She had been programmed to invoke desire. But perhaps he was too far gone with his PVC-clad lover to even notice anyone around him anymore.  
  
There was only one way to find out.  
  
She waited in front of the main elevator. She did not need to wait long. The doors yawned upon, and she found herself staring at him again. And his lover.  
  
'If you want the Keymaker,' she said, training her eyes on Morpheus, 'follow me.'  
  
*  
  
She swept them into the gents', which was as good a place as any to make parley. There was a man in there, pissing into the waterfall that hung like a swishing curtain across one wall.  
  
'Get out,' she ordered. And he did, running away like a scared little lamb.  
  
She strode to the mirror, and took out her lipstick. 'I'm so sick and tired of his bullshit..on and on, pompous prick.' She gazed at Neo's reflection in the mirror as she delicately outlined her lips. He looked so pale, like a ghost in the lamplight. She supposed it was his natural color. On him, it was very becoming. 'A long time ago, when we first came here, it was so different. He was so different.' She paused, curving her lips up slightly. 'He was a lot like you.'  
  
When he didn't reply, she turned. 'I will give you what you want, but first, you have to give me something.'  
  
'What?' he asked.  
  
She breathed in sharply. Really, she had nothing to lose. 'I want you to make love to me.'  
  
'Excuse me?' Trinity interjected, her voice laced with an edge.  
  
'That's what I said.' She turned her gaze upon his lover. Like her husband, she could read the code behind the dark glasses; she knew what Trinity's eyes betrayed. 'A night, that is all I ask. You already have him for a lifetime, whatever time is left to you both. A night with him is all I ask.'  
  
It was amusing to look at them both. The corner of Trinity's mouth was twitching with barely suppressed rage. Neo's face recovered its composure, though she could tell he was a little shocked by her effrontery. Let them get used to it. After all, she was programmed to be hot-blooded and Latin, and she was enjoying every moment of it. Only Morpheus remained stoic.  
  
'Why?' Neo finally asked.  
  
'She loves you, and you love her. It's all over you both. A long time ago, I knew what that felt like. I want to sample it, that's all.'  
  
'We don't have much time,' Morpheus said. 'The Sentinels are burrowing. We have less than 72 hours.'  
  
'I will take him to the Room Without Time. We have such a room within our chateau. It is a matrix within the Matrix, quite a feat of programming, I assure you. It is the brainchild of my husband, The Merovingian. What passes perhaps as a lifetime in it would seem only mere minutes to you here. I promise you, he will be returned to you before you even know it. And then I will deliver to you the Keymaker.'  
  
When they did not reply (too stunned, she noted with pleasure), she added, 'Think about it. Talk about it, if you must. But don't take too long. Remember, the Sentinels are swift.'  
  
TBC 


	2. Voyeur

Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me. They are all property of the Wachowski brothers and Warner Bros.  
  
Thanks for all the lovely reviews! They do keep me going. And yes, I realize Trinity would have probably whipped out her gun and shot Persephone on the spot. But then there would be no more story to tell .  
  
And yes, Jane, you have to keep me grounded. Knock me on the head whenever you think this story is getting out of hand. I am SOOO very busy and sleepy...sigh...finally earning my pay.  
  
Chapter 2: Voyeur  
  
Rated PG-13.  
  
There was an outpouring of emotion channeling through Trinity at this moment that she could barely decipher - she only knew it involved rage - immense rage - bewilderment, chagrin, confusion, disbelief, irrational fear and back to rage again. She felt an unfamiliar flushing heating up her cheeks, and tried to contain it, as though it were possible to contain such emotion. What an embarrassment it would be if it showed, and especially in front of that goddammed...  
  
(jeezuzfuckingchristbitch)  
  
How dare that woman! How could she even conceive of something as low as that? The incredible temerity of it all..she was not even human, she was a program, and maybe that was why. Programs didn't have values or feelings. They were just like vampires, little mouths that fed on real humans until they sucked the lifeblood out of them.  
  
No. Not Neo. They had just found each other, for heaven's sake. They had been through so much together. There could never be anyone else for her. In her previous life, before she was unhooked from the Matrix by Morpheus, she had had very few lovers. Most men found her too abstract, too involved in her vast cyberworld, too internalized (as one college professor with whom she had a brief fling put it). She had thrived on code and hacker chat rooms more than actual life. After finding out her 'real life' was a lie, she had no regrets about it.  
  
She had never loved anyone as much as she loved Neo.  
  
She remembered the first time she saw him. His digital signature in the Matrix, rather. The Oracle had told her she was predestined to love a man who was still trapped inside the Matrix, and that man would be The One. Thereafter, she had begun searching for him, even before Morpheus did. When they finally found him together, she had watched him for hours and days on end, especially when the others were not around. She felt guiltily like some twisted voyeur, but the curiosity was overwhelming. This is the one, the fortune tellers say, that she would love. Would she even have a choice in the matter?  
  
Even as the wheels were turning, she was falling in love with him, just looking at him through green-colored glasses. Here, the suggestion predated the event, just like the man who had psyched himself up so much to think he was ill that he actually became ill. She was psyching herself up to love him; and really, it was so easy. They were kindred spirits, both solitary hackers more inclined to spend their evenings at the computer terminal than with live people. As far as she knew, since she started watching him, he had not dated. He did not seem to be in contact with his family, if he had any. He had a few friends who popped in occasionally, but most of his connections seemed to be with cyberspace people, across miles and leagues of digital flotsam. He ordered in pizza, or had Chinese take away. He rarely went out.  
  
He was alone. So very, very alone.  
  
What are you doing now, she would venture daily, sitting by the terminals, watching the digitized green code streaming across her Neoworld. Are you sleeping well? Are you as restless as I am? What are you thinking? What do you actually look like, in the flesh?  
  
When Morpheus had made the decision to contact him one fateful day, she volunteered to be one to meet him.  
  
'You want the first peek, Trinity?' Cypher had drawled. He was fascinatingly intuitive. She just wished she didn't dislike him so much.  
  
'None of your goddamned business.'  
  
She had followed him and his friends to a Goth club, the kind where leather, manacles and spanking predominated. When she saw him close up for the first time, standing in a corner all by himself, again distancing himself from everybody, she was taken aback. He was beautiful. That was the only word with which she could describe him. He had features that were finely crafted and exquisite, as though an artisan had wrought a pen to them, with soft brown eyes that were pools of mirroring innocence. Although his face was prettier than any girl's, he remained remotely masculine. Nevertheless, it was a passive masculinity that was as mysterious as it was vulnerable; he radiated an aura that was both fragile and otherworldly.  
  
We would have to do something about that, she thought. It was his eyes. They betrayed everything. When they got him out, she would have to teach him how to shade them, to give him a mask of imperviousness.  
  
In this club, he was a sadist's dream come true.  
  
She would have to protect him.  
  
She would spend most of the rest of her life thinking that. No matter what superhuman powers he acquired, no matter how many times he spun round the world, saving it, she would always have to be there for him. Maybe he knew that too, because he seemed to need her as much as she needed him, understandably more so. She had had years to acclimatize herself to the real world. He had only been unplugged for six months.  
  
It was strange, to be needed so much for once in her life.  
  
She wondered if that would be an obstacle to their relationship. The fact that he sometimes clung to her, like she was the only rudder he had in this brave new world. It was in those times that she felt more like his mother. Would she remain attracted to a man like that? A superhero who had so many angst issues that he walked about in the real world seriously insecure, like a stranger in a strange land?  
  
One look into his eyes dispelled all that. She would have no doubts that she loved him, and would continue to love him. It was the entire package - his strength, his vulnerability, his earnestness, his whimsy - she had no regrets about loving him whatsoever.  
  
And now she would have to make a choice, because he was looking at her once again for direction (permission?) on how to proceed with Persephone. The damned woman was looking smugly at both of them...oh, she knew how to get a rival's panties into a bunch. Trinity felt like whipping out her gun and emptying its load into that infuriatingly knowing face.  
  
What was to stop her actually?  
  
Temper, Trinity, temper.  
  
She did it anyway before anyone could object, although she had no intention of pulling the trigger (they all knew Persephone was vital to their quest). It was more to show the woman she was no easy pushover, and that there would be severe repercussions should anything go wrong.  
  
'I could shoot you where you're standing right now.'  
  
'But you won't,' Persephone replied, still maddeningly in repose, like an icy Snow Queen. 'You need me and you know it.'  
  
'Trinity,' Morpheus cautioned. He nodded to Persephone. 'If you would excuse us, the three of us will have to talk.'  
  
'Of course. I'll step outside.'  
  
Trinity watched the lithe white figure in that impossibly tight dress slink out of the bathroom. Her fingers were still gripping the barrel of her gun, she didn't want to let it go.  
  
'There has to be another way,' Neo said as soon as Persephone was out of earshot. 'I could find out where the Merovingian lives, and probe around until we find the Keymaker. He's got to have him in a room somewhere..'  
  
'But there's no time,' Morpheus interrupted. 'The Merovingian specializes in codes that are hidden in tumbles. Every door has its own lock and password, much like that corridor you were in when Seraph took you to see the Oracle. The Keymaker could well be hidden in an Arctic cave, accessed only by a key available to those who control it. It would take us hours to hack through the code, even if we knew where the connecting doors were in the first place.'  
  
'What are you saying, Morpheus?' Trinity could barely suppress her rage. 'Are you saying you want him to go through with it with that...that creature? Is that the choice you want him to make?'  
  
Morpheus did not look at her. 'Neo, know that whatever you decide, remember that your body here is but a construct. It is nothing more than a digital imprint. Whatever you do here is merely a projection of your thoughts.'  
  
'You're making the choice for him even before he's had the chance to make it himself.' Trinity gritted her teeth. 'Damn you, Morpheus.'  
  
'Trinity, sometimes we have to make sacrifices. You of all people should know that.' The captain nodded at them both. 'I will leave you both to talk about it.'  
  
Trinity felt as though she would implode. The whole world was against her, and now that Neo was turning towards her, she could feel the cogs in his brain clicking..Jesus, he couldn't be contemplating it, could he? Not him surely.  
  
'He's right, Trinity,' Neo said in a low voice. 'We don't have time. I've done many things in here I'm not proud of - all those people still connected to the system I've killed, all in the name of the greater good...I've got more blood on my hands than anyone else here put together.' He shook his head sadly. 'Some messiah I'm turning out to be. I'd always thought messiahs were supposed to be pure, clean and innocent. So this...tryst is nothing. It's just a mind game, that's all.'  
  
'You mean a mind fuck.' She closed her eyes. 'God...why does it have to hurt so much?'  
  
Suddenly, she felt the need to look into his eyes, to see him revealed before her. As though reading her mind, he complied, removing his shades. There were those eyes again, so compelling, like wells of deep hurt.  
  
'I am not betraying you, Trinity. I love you, you know that. You will always be the only one for me.' He looked away. 'I've never been too good with words, and I don't know how to convince you otherwise. But this is nothing...nothing at all. It's like being involved in a virtual reality game, like one of those "Woman in the red dress" programs.'  
  
Yes, poor Mouse. She had sifted through his programs, from the mundane to the risque. She would always miss him terribly.  
  
'You played that program?' She was unable to hide the edge in her voice.  
  
It was really unbecoming of her to be this jealous. She was a female warrior, icy and strong, and needless emotions would only get into the way of her purpose, which was exactly what was happening now. Curses, she was being twisted in and out, getting all hormonal and becoming everything she had always hated in a woman.  
  
'You have me in the real world.' He took her hand and held it against his chest. 'Always remember that.' He squeezed her hand. 'That is what counts. Remember all those chances we had to be together in the Matrix? We never took them, because we wanted everything we had to be real.'  
  
'Yes, I know that.' She felt as though her heart would break. He was right, of course, him and Morpheus. Every word.  
  
She wanted one final kiss to be sure though before she surrendered him to that woman. So she took his face in her palms and kissed him, long, full and searching, on the lips. He responded hungrily. Tell yourself, she thought, that this is but a figment of your imagination, a rendering of neural synapses in your brain. And if you can fool yourself into thinking that, I will applaud you.  
  
She was no fool. She had never been one.  
  
Oh, he loved her. She had no doubt about it. But there would be something that would be irrevocably changed about him.. After the event...she instinctively knew it. She had a premonition that something bad was about to happen.  
  
'Go,' she said, a curious sense of numbness spreading across her body, 'before I change my mind.'  
  
'Remember, I love you.'  
  
She watched him exit the bathroom, dread settling all around her. 


	3. The Room without Time

Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me. They are all property of the Wachowski brothers and Warner Bros.  
  
Thanks all for the lovely comments. Yes, I know I'm depressing. Always did love movies like My Best Friend's Wedding or Titanic instead of How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days or Two Weeks' Notice. Misty, you can always write to me if you like. My addy is on my personals. And yes, Jane, I have to exorcise my obsession with the Snow Queen.  
  
And gee, now that I've watched the MTV movie awards, I'm really thinking of doing a Reloaded parody. Ah well, maybe next time. Stop it girl , this is a serious story.  
  
Chapter 3: The Room Without Time  
  
Rated PG-13.  
  
Neo's palms were sweaty, and he wished he could wipe them on his coat. But he had already stepped out of the bathroom, and he found himself face to face with Persephone. It was the last thing he wanted to do - display nerves in front of her - which was why he kept his shades on. He would only remove them when he absolutely had to. Damn his eyes.  
  
Beside her, Morpheus stood stoically, his face betraying no emotion. Neo wondered if they had been making conversation, and decided against it. Somehow, he didn't see Morpheus trading insults with anyone, unless it was Lock.  
  
But damn it, he was nervous. That woman was making him nervous, eyeing him all over like he was some piece of meat.  
  
It was not an unfamiliar situation, though he still found the going difficult. He wasn't used to being so much the center of attention. Being The One conferred a certain celebrity, if not notoriety. Everyone was looking to him to play some sort of savior role; and for someone as introverted as he had been all his pseudo-life, it took some time getting used to.  
  
Now people were coming up to him for their babies to be blessed, for chrissake. They were kneeling in front of him, offering bread and legumes and whatever they can scavenge from this blasted hulk of Earth. Their devotion was often slavishly uncomfortable. If they could have offered him frankincense and myrrh, he had no doubt they would; though they often used myrrh for embalming, and he wondered what that would have symbolized.  
  
Sometimes they offered him a lot more than bread. Both women and men. Maybe in a past life, before he met Trinity, he might have been tempted.  
  
'All right,' he said to Persephone, hoping he wouldn't stutter. 'I will give what you want. But how can we trust you?'  
  
'You have no choice.' Persephone's eyes glinted in amusement. 'Are you dreading this so, Neo? I should warn you this task is conditional. You have to make me believe I am her.' She gestured to Trinity, glowering in the doorway.  
  
'You said twenty minutes,' Morpheus interjected.  
  
'Yes. Twenty minutes. I will have him back here before you know it. Then I will take you to the Keymaker.'  
  
'And if you're not back by twenty minutes?' Trinity asked in a strangled voice.  
  
'Then you can tear this place apart. You will just have to trust me.'  
  
'What's to stop you from taking him away and killing him?'  
  
'Trinity,' Neo said softly, 'I can take care of myself.' He knew what she was thinking. No you can't, really. You need me to take care of you. It doesn't matter if you're The One, and that you have all these superpowers. To me, you'll always be vulnerable as hell.  
  
Persephone seemed to turn inwardly pensive. When she finally spoke, the expression on her face was wistful. 'Believe me, the last thing I want to do is to kill him.'  
  
*  
  
She led him down the corridor to a door. Producing a key from her purse, she inserted it into the lock and turned it. The doorway yawned open, revealing an enormous hall flanked by two curving staircases. The entire place was lit with candelabra from gleaming chandeliers, and decorated with marble busts and statuary in the mode of a French palais. On the walls, myriad pieces of medieval weaponry hung like an echo of sinister times.  
  
'This is where you live?' Neo asked. He was trying to make conversation. Since he was going to get to know her a lot better, it wouldn't hurt to be amicable.  
  
'Most of the time. Follow me.'  
  
He followed her upstairs, silently noting all the exits and doorways, just in case he had to make a quick run. Was there no one around? His boots sank into the plush carpeting, and he felt as though he was taking a museum tour. He had been to the Palace of Versailles once - in virtual reality naturally - since he had never been outside the state his entire life.  
  
Oh boy, had he been sheltered. And now...  
  
They arrived at another door. She produced another key. He understood. The locks were encryptions and the keys the residual images of passwords.  
  
'Where are you taking me?'  
  
'This is the Room Without Time.'  
  
She opened the door.  
  
He was amazed at the sight that greeted him. He was standing in front of a vast hallway, with white chilly columns and massive windows covered with stained glass. Outside, the sun was streaming through, scattering a kaleidoscope of red and blue patterns onto the marble floor. It felt Gothic, like a cathedral. How fitting, he thought.  
  
'You programmed this?'  
  
'Think of it as a construct,' she said. 'Here, we are in a microcosm. Time moves differently here than outside.'  
  
'Faster or slower?'  
  
'There are no parallels. The time we have here is of our own making.'  
  
'Wow.' In all his years of programming, he had never encountered anything like this. And they called him a maestro.  
  
'Are you always this contemplative?'  
  
'Just trying to work out the puzzle, that's all.' A code that sliced through the fabric of the time space continuum. It was a major mind bend, one that he could spend a lifetime poring over.  
  
'Once a hacker, always a hacker,' she said pleasantly. 'But enough of this. We have business to attend to.'  
  
Ah yes, uncomfortable business. He suddenly remembered why they were here. It was a pity. He would have liked her a whole lot better if she had wanted to talk code with him instead of getting down to business.  
  
That's been your problem your whole life, he thought in chagrin. You've always preferred talking shop to making out.  
  
All through high school, through college, and then through his working life, he had not been averse to getting attention from the opposite sex. It seemed the more he withdrew from women, the more they were interested in him. They made him uncomfortable, the way they fawned all over him; he had no illusions they were all about his looks. He would rather they be interested in his cyber-genius; at least they would have something in common to talk about when they weren't having sex.  
  
And no, he wasn't that interested in sex either, though at that time he couldn't speculate as to the reason why. He had even flirted with the idea he could be gay, but dispelled it as soon as he found out he wasn't interested in guys. Whatever little experience he had in love affairs ended up in disaster. His girlfriends always claimed he was too remote, too walled-up; they claimed he wasn't there even when he was physically there.  
  
'You know,' one of them told him, sitting up on his narrow bed in his little room, in the green glow of his computer light, 'most people have a life outside their computers. But not you. The first thing you do when you get up is to turn that fricking thing on. Then you're on it for hours. You even forget to eat.'  
  
He felt embarrassed, because he knew it was true. But he couldn't describe to any of them this compulsion he had to connect with whatever was calling him from inside his computer. They would think him mad. Possessed even.  
  
They even complained about his lovemaking. 'You're so uninvolved,' said another. 'You don't make an effort. You never initiate anything.'  
  
It was only much later, when he was unplugged from the Matrix and he found himself in the real world, that he understood the reason for his ennui. Some subconscious part of him had always known that nothing and nobody in the world he had known all his life - his parents, his brother, his friends, his lovers - were real. And when he was reborn into the desert of Earth as it was today, his senses all were magnified a hundred-fold, primed to be synaptically alive for the very first time. The feeling was exhilarating, like a dozen electrical currents coursing through his body at the same time; and if he had ever known the true experience of it - a dozen orgasms. It was like waking up from a surrealist Dada-world into another poignantly different one.  
  
He had never realized how hungry he was for life until he met Trinity.  
  
For once, he had wanted someone as much as she wanted him. They had consummated their relationship for the first time in Zion, in her rusted metallic little room, when the Nebuchadnezzar had been forced to dock after the Sentinel attack. It was the singular most erotic experience of his life. He could still remember the taste of salt on the tangy sweat of her skin, the feel of her hair brushing against his neck, the twining and untwining of their limbs, the softness of her body enveloping his, sucking him into a blessed comfort, like a womb. He had wanted to burrow himself into her and never leave her warmth forever.  
  
He loved Trinity with a deep, deep fervor that could only come to those who lived life dangerously, on a razor edge; as though every day would be the last they would have together. He lived in perpetual terror of losing her, because he was as close to being invincible as any human being could be, and she was painfully mortal. The thought of her succumbing to one of the perils that wrecked their lives - either in the Matrix or out of it - filled him with dread. It was something too ominous to even speak about.  
  
And now he was expected to reproduce that passion; that spellbinding overwhelming abandonment that would come only fleetingly in a lifetime with this consort who was pure digitized code, not even flesh or bone, but possessing the sentience of a full-blooded paramour.  
  
He had never been good at expressing himself. It was going to be more difficult than he initially thought.  
  
Persephone led him through the hallway, their footsteps echoing in the chilly silence, past a jungle of Doric columnade and into another smaller hallway, speckled with smooth black and white tiles. At the end of the hallway was an awaiting elevator, its doors invitingly open.  
  
'Do you come here often?' he asked her.  
  
'As and when.' A bemused smile twitched on her features. 'Are you always this polite?'  
  
He had no answer to that. Inside, she depressed the top button, and he privately noted that they were 23 floors altogether. He wondered about the number. In the world of code and computer simulation, every number had a significance.  
  
The elevator doors slid apart and she beckoned to him to follow. They were in a boudoir, decorated in an 18th century Louis XVI manner, with heavy draperies and gold tassels, and embroidered rugs and furniture depicting scenes of lords and ladies in courtship. It was a very feminine room. Not to his taste, but he supposed it was comfortable enough.  
  
In one corner, there was a table laden with a bowl of fruits.  
  
'Would you care for some wine?' She asked.  
  
'Yes please.' He hoped that would help him relax. The bourdoir opened into several rooms, one of which was the bedroom. The door to that was ajar, and he could make out a huge bed with mahogany bedposts, gleaming with white silk and an inviting eiderdown comforter.  
  
He really didn't want to venture there yet.  
  
He took off his dark glasses, and found himself looking into her eyes. She was staring at him with an expression of what he could only describe as wonder.  
  
'You have such innocent eyes,' she remarked after a period. 'So pure. And so beautiful. I never expected them to look like that.'  
  
'I'm not as innocent as I look,' he said wryly.  
  
She seemed to collect herself. 'I'll go get the wine. Chilled?'  
  
'Yes, thank you.'  
  
He watched her disappear, and began to unbutton his long black coat. Underneath, he wore a black clingy sweater that Trinity had always insisted he looked so good in. In fact, every article of his clothing had been picked out by her.  
  
'We all dress like slobs in the real world,' she said. 'There's no reason why we shouldn't look good in the Matrix. Especially if we don't have to pay for it.'  
  
He had bemusedly agreed.  
  
Gosh, even in this timeless alien construct, he could find traces of her. Maybe that was a good thing. If he psyched himself to truly believe she was there, and if the bedroom was pitch black - with a really good imagination, he could sustain that pretence for half an hour or so. If that was all it took.  
  
Morosely, waiting for Persephone to reappear, he sat himself down at the table and reached for the pomegranates. 


	4. Goddess

Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me. They are all property of the Wachowski brothers and Warner Bros.  
  
I know I'm slow at updating, but I just went on a trip to LA for 5 days, and I'm exhausted. Believe it or not, I'm actually typing this in an airplane lounge after getting the inspiration to write a lot more about Neo and pals after watching the Imax version today. And boy, does Neo look good 6 stories high.  
  
BTW, Cattie, Neo is 35 actually. It says so in his Enter the Matrix profile. Keanu Reeves is 38. Thanks for the heads up anyway. And sex simulations are explained in the original Matrix script, but was later cut out due to goodness knows why. (Source: The Art of the Matrix).  
  
Chapter 4:  
  
Rated PG-13.  
  
When Persephone re-entered the room, a decanter of chilled Bordeaux red in one hand and a couple of wine glasses in the other, she was stopped short by the sight of Neo sitting at the table. He was sucking at pomegranate seeds with such a melancholic expression on his face that she wanted to hold him.  
  
Did he have any inkling of what she had in mind? Or did his subconscious program him to enact that mythological reference?  
  
Even she herself was not fully convinced she was going to go through with it. She wanted to see (and feel, touch, taste) what he was like first. So far, she was liking him more than she thought she would. Most men fell prey to her raw seductive power almost instantaneously, it never mattered whether they were married or attached or single. Her almost animalistic pheromones overwhelmed them before they could even be smitten by her physical beauty.  
  
But not him. Perhaps he was impervious to her chemical charms. She suspected nevertheless that the problem was psychological. He was still thinking about Trinity. He would probably view this as an act of betrayal, no matter how much he had tried to psych himself into thinking it was not real.  
  
She felt a pang. Men like him were a rarity in her world. He was a gem to be treasured, too good for the likes of her. Though that unbidden, fleeting thought had crossed her mind....the temptation to begin it was too deliciously sinister...  
  
No, she told herself. Wait.  
  
She did have the power. In her hands were all the tools of the trade, the choice was all hers to use them.  
  
She walked carefully to the table, setting the decanter and glasses down. He looked up.  
  
'Shall I pour you some wine?' She asked him, amused to see him do a double take. She had changed into a flowing, almost translucent Grecian mauve dress that accentuated her full womanly curves. She knew she was a stark contrast to what he was used to. While Trinity was sharp and angular like a prosaic Picasso painting, she was fleshy and voluptuous, like a depiction of Mother Earth in all her ripe woman-ess.  
  
'Yes, thank you,' he replied, not meeting her eyes.  
  
He was flustered, she could tell. She had always been piqued by shy men, and he was as passive as none she had ever met before. It was a strange trait to belong to one such as The One, but they were living in strange times and this particular version of the Matrix was the strangest, most portentous one she had been in yet.  
  
He downed the glass of wine she had poured him in one swallow. When she amusedly poured him another, he emptied it as well.  
  
He was trying to get himself drunk. She almost felt sorry for him. Trinity was a lucky, lucky woman.  
  
When he reached for his sixth glass, she put her hand on his. 'I think you've had enough.'  
  
He agreed. 'It's not you, you know,' he said apologetically. 'It's just the circumstances.'  
  
'Of course.' She took his hand in hers, gazing into his eyes. His hand was warm, very alive, and she was reminded again of how real digitized code could be. Leaning over, she pressed her lips against his in a chaste close-mouthed kiss. He seemed to savor it. Then, abruptly making his mind about something, he responded; kissing her back slowly, still close- mouthed..but with a rapidly building hunger.  
  
She liked the way his lips felt against hers. They were soft, moist and succulent, and they tasted of the wine he had just drunk. He would be so easy to love, really. The way he was so easy to look at; with his soft, fawn-like eyes that wore a perpetually bruised, questioning expression; his marvelously sculptured features and his unusual spectacular beauty that was a Shakespearean prose come to life.  
  
You have to take the lead in this, she told herself, because he won't.  
  
Gently parting his lips with her tongue, she probed tentatively, sizing his response. He did not resist, and allowed her to continue this exploration, his arm creeping around her body to steady himself. She felt his lips pull against hers in a gentle sucking intensity, and a plethora of his emotions assailed her - this was her specialty, the vampiric assimilation of another's emotions, but the deluge had never ceased to stagger her when they came. She felt his confusion at the newness of his world; the purity of his love for Trinity; the calm resignation he felt towards his fate as a messiah (she knew now too he was ready to die if he had to for this world); the physical attraction he felt towards her that he was trying unconvincingly to deny.  
  
At least he was attracted to her. He wasn't all lost into that woman. Not yet.  
  
She pulled apart before she could drown into him.  
  
'Come with me,' she said huskily, leading him into the bedroom.  
  
He hesitated for just one moment before he obliged.  
  
*  
  
If he wanted to be honest with himself, Neo had to admit he was slightly tipsy. That was good, it was the way he wanted to be. Okay, maybe more than just slightly tipsy. The dire thing was - he had to admit again - he was horribly attracted to Persephone. Why shouldn't any man be? She had the face of a goddess and the body of a Maxim centerfold.  
  
Now if only Trinity's face didn't keep intruding itself into his mind.  
  
Breathe, he thought. This is not real. It was no different from all those sex simulation programs the guys were passing around in the ships, to while away those days being away from Zion and their families. Everyone had them, it was a tolerated thing in the navy. Kept sex scandals among teammates to a minimum. The choices were as inventive as there were multiple - from old Matrix-world entertainers, both women and men, to fantastical original creations. The scenarios were only limited by their designers' imaginations. There were rumors there was even one involving him circulating the black market - it was illegal to make a simulation about an existing human being unless he or she permitted it. There was an outcry from the temple for a while about sacrilege.  
  
He had tried going into one such simulation before, just for the heck of it. But exited as quickly as he had entered. He had known only simulation sex for most of his life, he had no desire to experience it again, unless it was with Trinity.  
  
The bedroom was again very feminine, all white silk and embroidered lace, but it was comfortable enough, with heavily patterned palmettes and draperies lining the windows, shielding out all the light. There were several lamps placed strategically around the room, designed to give off as pleasing a glow as possible. He felt weird in this white pleasure palace, dressed completely in black, standing out like a dark shadow amidst all that gleaming white. A harbinger raven of doom.  
  
How would he even start? This was something he was so not good in.  
  
'I think I need more wine,' he announced.  
  
'No you don't,' Persephone said gently, taking his face into her hands and kissing him again. 'Just do what comes naturally.'  
  
He felt himself responding to the kiss again, closing his eyes and tasting a vision that was part Persephone/Trinity. The wine was making him light-headed, and the room was spinning a little. Or maybe it was her perfume. Whatever it was, he found himself hardening as she kissed him voraciously on the mouth, over and over again, as though she was trying to absorb him. Her hands were tugging at his shirt, and he helped her ease it off.  
  
'So firm,' she said, stroking his abdominal muscles. 'And so lean. Such young flesh. Are you like this in real life?'  
  
'No.' He was beginning to feel more at ease. 'In real life, I have buttons all over me and I'm skinny. You wouldn't find me very attractive at all.'  
  
'Somehow I doubt that. And what about you, Neo? Do you find me attractive?'  
  
He wasn't going to lie. 'I think you're one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen.' And really, she was. Even if she belonged to the other side, nothing would ever change that.  
  
'Would that be enough for you?' He detected just the slightest tinge of sadness in her voice. 'Or would you want me to put out the lights so you can pretend I'm someone else?'  
  
Deep down inside, he thought, she was just a little girl. Wronged by so many men in her life; sitting in front of a total stranger, begging to be loved. Something about that touched his heart deeply, and he felt a pang.  
  
'No, that's enough for me,' he replied, kissing her again and pushing her down against the bed.  
  
*  
  
He tasted like a slice of heaven, just like she knew he would. She was glad he didn't insist on turning off the lights. She wanted to look into his eyes while they were making love. He had such beautiful eyes - exotically shaped and luminously sad - she wanted to see herself mirrored in them while he was inside her.  
  
Through his deep, searching kisses; the tactile sense of his skin brushing against hers; the rhythmic thrusts of his body inside her, filling her deeply and completely, she could soak up his very essence like a sponge. She had yet to meet a spirit such as his - his incredible nobility, his piety, his judgement in the face of right from wrong. He was not an innocent, as he had suggested. He was a modern-day warrior messiah with the blood of many crusades on his hands. A Lancelot or a Tristan rather than a Galahad or a Jesus Christ. And indeed, there was something very chilvaric and Arthurian about him, almost as though he belonged in another knightly, less barbaric era.  
  
It was a stretch to ask him to make her believe she was Trinity. He could not do that. But he gave her something even better. He was truly making love to her, without any pretense that she was someone else. That, in her book, was the greatest gift he could have given her.  
  
Through him, she could feel his overpowering love for Trinity - that deep, undying emotion that was something approaching rapture. Such a love, so blinding in its intensity and so rich in its depth, could only spell doom for its partakers. If either of them were to lose the other, the one remaining would surely wilt away, unable to sustain any enjoyment in life thereafter; for reality henceforth would be only poor consolation.  
  
She knew also that she was desirable to him. He found her beautiful and earthy, as lush as she was feminine. She could read the word he had framed in his mind to describe her: Goddess. She was a goddess incarnate to him, a true testament to her namesake. His deification of her allowed him to separate her from what he felt for Trinity, who represented reality to him.  
  
But oh, she could fall in love with him so easily. Already, she could feel the tendrils of that beginning to form.  
  
I'm sorry, Neo, she thought as he climaxed inside her. But I don't really want this to be over. I must do what I must. Please forgive me.  
  
'Sorry,' he apologized as soon as he caught his breath. 'It's the best I can do.'  
  
'No. It was wonderful. You don't have to be sorry.'  
  
He rolled away and lay beside her, looking at the ceiling, his body covered in a sheen of sweat. 'I know this doesn't sound very decent immediately right after..you know...but I really should be getting back.'  
  
'This is a timeless construct. You can spend the night here. It would make no difference.' She squeezed his hand. 'Please do. It would mean a lot to me.'  
  
'Are you doing this to get back at your husband?'  
  
'Perhaps,' she said truthfully. 'But mostly because I like being with you.'  
  
His face lit up with a genuine smile. 'You know, Persephone, in this life I'm already taken. But in another life maybe...if we'd met under different circumstances.'  
  
He was hovering too close to the truth, so she said no more and let him drift off to sleep, still holding his hand. For a while, she watched him, admiring the way the shadows played in the contours of his features. When she was sure he was deep in sleep, she arose from the bed and crept out of the bedroom, her feet padding silently onto the plush carpeting.  
  
She entered another room attached to the boudoir, one that was guarded by lock and key. A shiny mechanical room filled with computers and their paraphernalia, and rows and rows of data storage chips that were kept in metal cabinets. Opening a drawer, she selected one known only to her, and cradled the tiny object to her bosom. So tiny, and so life changing.  
  
Neo, she thought, I'm sorry. But I'm about to betray your trust.  
  
TBC  
  
P/s: Just to let everyone know, I'm perfectly capable of descending into R or NC-17, but I just couldn't do it to Neo for some reason. Arghhhh. Oh well, please R & R if you'd like to know what Persy has in store. 


	5. Through the Looking Glass

Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me. They are all property of the Wachowski brothers and Warner Bros.  
  
Thanks for all the reviews, and helpful tips on storylines. Unfortunately, I've planned everything ahead in this story, so I apologize if everything doesn't go the way you like it to. And thanks to Jane, as always, for the VERY helpful tip on plotting. Therefore, post-discussion, Trinity gets an appearance.  
  
Chapter 5: Through the Looking Glass  
  
Rated PG-13.  
  
'Morpheus,' Trinity said, her heart suddenly lurching within her chest. 'Something's wrong, I know it.'  
  
Morpheus looked at his wristwatch, the reflection of her frightened face gleaming in the mirrors of his shades. 'They've only been gone for 10 minutes.'  
  
'She's done something to him, I just know it.' Her heart was fluttering in her breast, a disturbing tappity-tap that was as unusual to her normally calm exterior as it was painful.  
  
His face impassive, Morpheus produced his cellphone and punched a series of numbers. 'Link, we need a trace on where Neo is.'  
  
Trinity watched all this with a growing dread. If something happened to Neo, she would never forgive herself. She would never forgive Morpheus. He had talked Neo into this, damn him. Neo wasn't invincible, the way everyone seemed to think he was the rate they were going. It was always - send Neo to this, get Neo to handle that, Neo could take them all, easy. He was risking his life for them everyday, and they (the council, the ship captains, and the entire citizenry of Zion) were taking him for granted.  
  
Damn them all to hell, if they weren't in it already.  
  
She would tear down the entire Matrix itself if she had to, just to make sure Neo was safe.  
  
She remembered that conversation they had had, the very last night they had been in Zion. The temple had thrown a rave to celebrate what could possibly be humanity's last moments in the last human city, which would have been unusual in most of mankind's history, which was pockmarked with war, hunger and pestilence. But not in this strange post-apocalyptic 23rd century - where society had acquired (or so they would like to think) a certain sophistication and saturation level. Where the need to be so different from the very machines they had created became paramount to their existence, so sex became an overwhelmingly integral part of human expression.  
  
Overthrowing the shackles of religion and ignorance that had usually prohibited ribald behavior in most epochs, Zion embraced a doctrine of living life to the fullest and in total abandonment every day. Most people who were newly unplugged found this more than a little shocking.  
  
'Takes time getting used to,' Neo had commented to her.  
  
She agreed. It had taken her several years to get used to it. 'These people face total annihilation every day. I suppose it gets tiring after a while, so anything is a cause to celebrate.'  
  
'It's like a throwback to the '60's.' He paused, looking a little embarrassed. She had smiled, knowing the reason why. He had never received so many offers of sex thrown his way in his entire life than within the past 6 months, or so many offers from women who wanted to have his children. The Zionites never did care whether or not he had a permanent lover, because permanence for them was fleeting. Clearly, being a messiah in the 23rd century was a far cry from being one in 32 B.C.  
  
They had made love in a curious antechamber she had found somewhere in the underground warrens. There was an arch in the ceiling that was prophetically symbolic, like the pictures she had seen in triptychs of saints. Arches in medieval paintings were used to signify divinity, and since he was as close to divinity as anyone in Zion could get (while remaining assuringly human), she thought it was pleasingly apt. The moment she had found the room, she had wanted to make desperate love to him in it.  
  
And so they had, far away from the revelers, the debauchery and the madding crowd. She had found the experience erotic, though somewhat lacking. Although he had never been technically superior, he usually more than made up for it with sheer passion and enthusiasm. But tonight, he seemed distracted. Something had been bugging him lately, something he was keeping from her.  
  
She knew it had something to do with her, because he had a haunted look in his eyes when he rolled over, perspiration dotting his body. 'Trinity,' he had whispered. 'I can't lose you.'  
  
'You won't lose me,' she avowed, and held him fiercely, as though she could shelter him from all the bad things in the world and keep him in her little cocoon, warm, safe and protected. She had never imagined it possible to love anyone so much. But here she was, head over heels - infatuation, lust, fever, romance and that timeless, heart wrenching 'do all or die' love that people write sonnets about - all bundled into one glorious mess.  
  
They held each other for a long time before he spoke again. 'If we get through this..all of this..have you ever thought about..making this...more permanent?'  
  
Her heart skipped a beat. Was he asking what she thought he was asking? Not many people solemnized marriages in Zion, it was the culture to build entire families without that symbolic piece of parchment.  
  
She spoke her mind before she realized it. 'Let's get through this first...shall we?'  
  
She wanted to berate herself for saying that because he immediately looked away, a disquiet in his eyes. Now why did she have to go and say something like that? Wasn't this what she wanted, dreamt of for the last 6 months like a giddy schoolgirl?  
  
'You're right,' he said. 'Maybe we'd better wait a while and let things settle.' He wouldn't look at her.  
  
Now you've gone and hurt him, she thought miserably.  
  
Commanding herself to return to the present, she heard Morpheus say, 'Are you sure?' A pause. Then, 'keep looking.'  
  
A cold draught gripped her heart. 'What is it, Morpheus?'  
  
'Link was unable to find a trace on him. It seems he's vanished into one of those corridors or ports that are black holes in the system.'  
  
'And we're just going to accept that?' She fought hard to keep the righteous anger from her voice, but she didn't think she succeeded.  
  
'Trinity...'  
  
She knew she was on the brink on insubordination. But when it came to Neo, all reason and rationality seemed to fly out of the window.  
  
'I'm sorry, Morpheus,' she said, striding out of the bathroom, 'but I've got to find him.'  
  
*  
  
The moment he woke up, he immediately knew the world felt wrong.  
  
He was lying on a divan swathed with green and gold sheets, propped up by an amazing number of pillows. Above him, a canopy of filigree curtains hung, bordering the bed in a cloud of transparent gold. The walls of the room were hung with heavy tasseled drapes, and there were plush rugs on the veined marble floor, all worked in the same green and gold pattern. There was so much green and gold in the room that he was getting an eye ache.  
  
(You never did quite like green....)  
  
He frowned. Now where did that thought come from? And more significantly, where was he?  
  
He sat up in alarm. It was not so much a realization that he didn't know where he was, but that he didn't know WHO he was. His mind was churning up an empty blank. Wait...there were images..but these were so fleeting and so jumbled he couldn't make any sense of the flotsam.  
  
Damn it, concentrate. Within his chest, he was aware his heart was drumming up a frenetic staccato.  
  
The images. Yes. A woman with long dark hair in a white dress. A pool in a center court, with a fountain in the middle. Lush gardens with olive trees and white marble statuary. Earthenware ewers of spring water. A waterfall and a river. Horses. None of it made any sense.  
  
My name, he thought. I know my name. It was at the tip of his mind...something that began with..  
  
The door opened and a young woman entered, carrying a pitcher. She had dark braided hair that was wound around her head in a style he found both familiar and yet strange, as though his mind was in a dichotomy as to what was right and wrong. She wore an off-shoulder, sleeveless white tunic that fell loosely down to her ankles. Around her arms were gold circlets, with an insignia of something he knew he should recognize worked into the metal.  
  
She looked at him, and obviously something about him startled her, because her mouth gaped open in a surprised 'O.'  
  
'Hello?' he said uncertainly.  
  
The pitcher fell and crashed onto the floor, shattering. The woman's cheeks colored. He looked down, and realized that he was naked, and the sheets had fallen off.  
  
'For.forgive me, Master,' the girl was stammering. 'I'll.I'll go get the Queen.'  
  
She rushed off, leaving him bewildered. Queen? What Queen? Again, it was something he knew he should have known, but his mind - which was at this moment more scattered than the shards of pitcher across the floor - was refusing to accept.  
  
He groped for the sheets and swung his feet onto the floor, hoping to make himself presentable before this Queen, whoever she was, arrived and pronounced some dire fate on him for frightening her handmaid. If only he wasn't so addled. He wasn't sure where his clothes were, or what they were supposed to look like, if he had any.  
  
In fact, he wasn't sure if he was supposed to be fleeing right at this very moment.  
  
Crossing the room, he made a beeline for what he assumed was the bathroom, his bare feet taking care to avoid the detritus from the pitcher. He found himself in a smaller room that was completely white and black mosaic, replete with a square pool in the middle and several miniature fountains that sprung from stone daises, showering the place with a pleasant tinkery sound. There was a large mirror above a marble table against one wall, and to this he strode, still frowning. Because if this was a bathroom, shouldn't there be  
  
(taps?)  
  
Again, the word startled him, as though it shouldn't have been in his vocabulary. And yet it was.  
  
He was almost afraid to look at the face in the mirror. What if it was someone he couldn't recognize? A pulse was throbbing painfully in his forehead now, and as his reflection stood before him - a black-haired man with pale skin and large, haunted eyes - hand raised to touch his own at the surface of the mirror, as though in supplication. Two worlds colliding, divided only by a sheet of glass....and...  
  
(he had been in this situation before, involving a mirror that bordered two lives, and this was déjà vu)  
  
'Neo?'  
  
He jumped. That was his name. Yes! Only it felt otherworldly, as if it didn't quite belong there. The dark-haired woman he had seen in his vision was standing at the threshold of the bathroom that wasn't quite a bathroom, only she was dressed in mauve instead of white, a long dress made of gossamer material. She looked hesitant, as though she was afraid to step in.  
  
'Are you all right?' she asked again.  
  
He was deliberating on what to answer, and settled for the truth. 'I.I'm not sure I remember anything...about who I am, or what I'm doing here..'  
  
She drew closer, and he could see how beautiful she was. If beauty was equated to royalty in this weird little world, then he summated that she had to be the Queen. 'Do you remember anything about the hunting accident?' she pressed. 'You were unconscious for two weeks. We were worried about you.'  
  
Hunting accident? He wasn't aware he hunted; even the word felt strange to his mind. An image of a wounded stag zipped across his temporal recesses, its eyes wild with fear.  
  
'I.I don't remember.'  
  
'It's all right.' She had come up to him now, and she was standing so close that he could smell her perfume. 'It'll all come back to you. I'm just so glad you're awake...' She laid a slender hand on his cheek. '..my beloved husband.'  
  
The memories came in a dizzying rush all of a sudden, and he knew it to be true.  
  
TBC  
  
P/S: Please R and R, as always! 


	6. The White Prince

Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me. They are all property of the Wachowski brothers and Warner Bros.  
  
I might not get the chance to update as often, as budget season is upon me and I've just gotten terribly busy at work. I didn't mean to make it this long, but the characters kind of got out of hand. And just in case you think this is all too weird, I assure you I know what I'm writing about, and I'll tie it all up quite nicely in the not-too-distant end. The world of the Matrix, nevertheless, is a world where anything is possible..  
  
Chapter 6: The White Prince  
  
Rated PG-13.  
  
'And how long did you say we have been married?'  
  
He was sitting at a table laden with bread and fruit, in a balcony overlooking a city that felt as alien to him as his wife. The setting sun was bathing the flat-topped white houses with a glistening rose-colored hue. Between them, he could see paved streets, plazas with fountains and congregations of colorful people going about their business everywhere; women carrying bread baskets on their heads, traders tending to donkeys that pulled two-wheeled carts filled with brickbats. Further still, the land sloped downwards to meet the cerulean blue of the ocean, which was dotted with sailboats and rafts.  
  
It all looked terribly interesting, but terribly...simulated somehow. He would have to explore the city later, feel and touch it for himself. Not that his senses have always been accurate.  
  
(They have failed you for most of your life. Consider the possibility they may be lying to you now.)  
  
The flashes of (?) intuition in his head were getting alarming. He wondered if he had taken more of a fall than they had reckoned, and part of his brain was now permanently scarred.  
  
He was wondering why he was so skeptical, but everything felt weird, especially his memories, as patchwork as they were. He couldn't quite describe it, but even the colors felt wrong to him, as though they had gone through multiple dyes just to get that extra loudness that was so jarring to him.  
  
The beautiful woman sitting in front of him, watching him eat, was nevertheless very real. She appeared outwardly calm and composed, but he could tell she was nervous by the fluttering of her eyelashes and the surreptitious twitching of her hands.  
  
'Don't you remember, Neo? The day we met?'  
  
He searched for the memories, and they were there. In a hazy little cloud. 'I was visiting this city for the first time, after a really long sea voyage. I was standing in the Great Hall, looking up at the throne, and you were sitting there. I thought you were the..'  
  
He was going to say 'the most beautiful woman he had ever seen', but somehow he knew that felt wrong. He wasn't sure of many things right now, but he was very sure of this. He had never been one to be attracted to physical beauty for beauty's sake alone. Somehow, his wife's obvious attributes struck him as bizzare..he never thought he would ever marry someone who looked like that. She would have been too gorgeous for the likes of him, and he would have been running scared for the rest of his life, wondering when she would wake up to the fact he just wasn't good enough.  
  
(You've always been self-deprecating. You never truly believed in what you can do.)  
  
'You were visiting with your brother,' his wife said. What was her name again? Persephone. 'I was supposed to be betrothed to him. He was your father's eldest, the heir to the Red Kingdom. Our marriage was supposed to have sealed an alliance. But when I saw you, standing by your brother's side...'  
  
'We were drawn to each other -'  
  
'- As though we'd known each other all our lives -'  
  
'And so we got married,' he finished, as if by rote.  
  
It all seemed terribly scripted somehow. Though he was sure it had happened to him. Not in this context though. In another time, another place. With someone else who lurked in the shadowy recesses of his consciousness, a vague incorporeal figure that refused to take shape.  
  
He even remembered the wedding day. His brother had been none too pleased; he had been looking for a trophy wife, and who better than the White Queen herself, with her own queendom as a very expansive dowry. The wedding had been exactly 6 months after they had met, though the whole thing had turned downright political, and he had already made himself at home in Persephone's bed the very night they had met  
  
(though that's something you would not normally do, shy as you are where women are concerned)  
  
and everyone had come to accept that it was the next best thing that could happen, for really, how can you thwart true love, corny as though that may sound?  
  
The wedding was like a image of crystal clarity in his mind, like a  
  
(video recording?)  
  
swirl of white lace, chiffon silk and candelabra, with endless goblets of wine being toasted, and maidens in snow-colored garments with white flowers in their braided hair. And the honor guard turned out in their full regalia, with golden breastplates and white cloaks, brandishing swords that gleamed silver in the dazzling light -  
  
'That was two years ago,' he added.  
  
'Yes. We've been married for two years.'  
  
He sat there, looking at her, wondering if she could discern that he was feeling a little off. Because really, she was like a stranger to him, and it would hurt her to know that. He couldn't remember anything else about her besides the throne room incident, the wedding and a sort of understanding in between happened (sans actual images he could grasp in his mind). Did she have any brothers or sisters? Was white her favorite color, because he couldn't recall seeing her in anything but white? On which side of the bed did she prefer to sleep, the left or the right? What did she like to do in her free time? Did it involve him?  
  
There were so many things he had forgotten  
  
(didn't know)  
  
about her that he was alarmed.  
  
What on Earth did she do as a Queen anyway? And if he was her consort, what in the heck was he supposed to do?  
  
He had absolutely no idea at all.  
  
*  
  
It had been so easy really.  
  
Back in the boudoir, when he was asleep after their bout of lovemaking, she had come to him, her lips lined with coral peach lipstick.and the traces of a program to render a person unconscious, tailored to match his specific coded imprint. She had kissed him, long and deeply; and he had stirred, murmuring Trinity's name. There was always significance in her kisses; she had always used them sparingly, though he was never to know that. She kissed him again, full-mouthed, just to be sure she had left her program on his digital self; and he had sunk gradually but surely into a coma.  
  
'Neo, I'm so sorry..but you'll thank me one day for doing this. You really will.'  
  
There was a line from The Snow Queen, that fey but nightmarish fairytale from Hans Christian Andersen, where the title subject tells little Kai, whom she has kidnapped, 'I'd better not kiss you anymore, or I might kiss you to death.' This particular program too was lethal if used in overdose. So she had made sure his breathing was regular, while lovingly stroking the hair off his forehead, before proceeding to enact the second part of her plan.  
  
It had been so easy as well to insert the second stream of code into his veins via a traditional intravenous cannula. There were other modes of delivery, but this was the fastest and the best, and she had to be sure. She had systematically wiped out all his memories, every shred of them - Trinity, Morpheus, being unplugged, Zion, his life as The One and his prior existence as Thomas Anderson, his nightmares, his dreams - all memories, good and bad.  
  
He was like a clean artist's canvas for her to paint in when she had finished. Pristine, pure and snowy white; like a Galatea waiting to be moulded by her Pygmalion. After all, his body in this Matrix and in any construct was completely code, even if he was The One. It was so easy to manipulate code, especially if you were wife to The Merovingian, and had access to every digital trick in the book.  
  
While looking at his newborn, amnesiac body, she felt a surge of an emotion so inexplicable she could only liken it to that of a mother for her child. Which was discomfiting because she wanted to be his lover more than anything else. But truly, what woman - in the entire history of womankind - had not subconsciously dreamt of this, especially if the man she desired belonged to somebody else?  
  
There were rules however to playing God. Like with everything else.  
  
She could only give him new memories, she would have no idea if his old ones were completely scourged until the program rebooted itself and ran inside him.  
  
She could not give him personality traits. He was a sum of his real past and his own chromosomes - the twin building blocks of personality - and not the past she manufactured for him. That she could not erase.  
  
She could not program his thought patterns, or his reactions. Neither could she determine his situational behavior, his tendencies and his preferences. She could not program him to like the color green, if he didn't like it in the first place.  
  
She could not alter his likeness. Not that she wanted to in the first place. He was a very handsome man. The Maker had crafted him adoringly, if there was a Maker - made even more appealing because he didn't seem to be conscious of his own beauty most of the time.  
  
She could however delete all memories of what he had learnt from school, from his parents, from his work, and from being The One. She could make him forget he had ever learnt how to see and manipulate code, though he would always retain his abilities - all of them. He just would never know he had them, like the subservient serf - oppressed by his landlords - who never knew he had it in him to start a revolution.  
  
She could not program his soul. She didn't want to. It was part of what made him so attractive.  
  
She had selected a simulation program that incorporated an ancient Mediterranean culture and elements of literary fantasy throughout the ages. Once it ran, however, she would have no control over its events and the people that populated it. They would all develop their own personalities to shape their own destinies. She could only ensure it was forever set on peacetime mode.  
  
I'm not doing any harm, she consoled herself, guiltily thinking of Trinity. A worthy adversary, if she ever knew one. And don't you see, Trinity, this is the best thing anyone could ever give him. If you loved him you would understand. Because the one who was the One was doomed to early deletion, whatever path he chose. It was his purpose, which he would find out soon enough when he connected with the Architect. This way, however, she could give him a life, one he could never have if he had stayed with Trinity and fulfilled his quest as The One.  
  
Though you know that's inevitable anyhow..  
  
I'm giving him a life. The life he deserves.  
  
This is a good thing. Honest.  
  
And I love him, from what I have assimilated from him when we made love. I will love him even more when we have had the chance to live our lives together. When he has had the chance to love me in return.  
  
Which of course led to the question she had been dreading, but knew it would inevitably be answered anyway.  
  
Can you program love?  
  
TBC 


	7. False Memory

Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me. They are all property of the Wachowski brothers and Warner Bros.   
  
Hah! Finally ff net is back up. I still give you my assurance I still know what I'm doing, so don't fret if you think this chapter is weird. And Tiger Lily, I'm actually not a Neo/Trinity shipper (ducks from all the rotten tomatoes thrown). I'm not a Neo/Persephone one either.   
  
Chapter 7: False Memory  
  
Rated PG-13.   
  
As Persephone watched Neo grope his way through his new environment, she was struck by how easily he took to it, like a duck to water. He took long forays into the city; checking out the wares at the marketplace, talking to the philosophers at the plaza, going down to the wharves to see the fishing ships dock. He took a great interest in everything and everyone around him, and why not - she thought - he was seeing everything for the first time. And a subconscious part of him knew it.   
  
At first she was afraid for his safety. He was after all the Prince Consort and although she hadn't programmed any enemies, she was sure that the rogue people programs in this world she had created would assimilate some unpleasant tendencies. Like kidnapping, for one. Or regicide.   
  
She needn't have worried. Neo retained that aura of otherworldly invincibility even in this Sim world. Although he had absolutely no knowledge of his powers, nor had he a chance to use them, the people seemed to embrace him with a fondness and loyalty usually reserved for very old and doting patriarchs.   
  
Even in this world, as with Zion, he set about to help the citizens make better lives for themselves. It was in his hacker's modus operandi to cut through the chase to get to the meat of things. So he helped invent waterwheels and irrigation channels, ways to harness winds and waves. He sat in Guild meetings of weavers, dyers, tanners, builders and bricklayers. He was playing the exact part he played in Zion, in which everybody wanted him to be a part of anything and everything.   
  
Another more sinister reason was, she suspected, he was trying to avoid her.  
  
It was not as though he openly displayed it. He was too nice and emotionally matured for that. Sometimes she caught him gazing at her with a perturbed look in his eyes, as if to ask 'Why are you still a stranger to me?' When he made love to her, which was often, his doubts and fears about her seeped through. She could read the thoughts running through his head - he thought she was a wonderful wife; it caused him great anguish to be unable to give himself completely to her. Some lingering memory of something that would not quite come to the surface was holding him back.   
  
She had underestimated the power of his bond with Trinity. Even from beyond, she was calling to him.  
  
Sometimes she felt like weeping. She had chosen this path for both of them, and although he was kind and courteous, generous and loving to her, there was always the sense of something being missing, something that was incomplete. Not that he wanted to hold anything back, he was struggling within himself to come to terms with it; but it was something out of his control.   
  
On her part, she gave him her almost all. She gave him her body, heart and soul. All the love she could not bestow upon her husband from another life, the Merovingian, she now lavished upon Neo. It was easy. Even though he had closed up some remote part of him to her, he was still very easy to love. The only things she promised herself she would ever hold back from him were his real memories. It was for their protection; hers and the child she carried in her womb.  
  
Perhaps it was time to have children. Perhaps it would bring him closer, and allow whatever ghosts he had to be exorcised. She had never been a mother before. She had never had the time or the inclination, or a husband worthy enough to have a family with. A long time ago she might have thought the Merovingian worthy; but it was a time of war and turmoil, and she had not wanted to bring a child - whether or not it was a sentient program or fully human - into the world. Now however, in her peaceful Sim City, the ambience was nurturing and the time was ripe.   
  
Two years had lapsed since she had brought Neo into this world. Two years of waiting for him to love her as much as she loved him.   
  
She wanted nothing but the chance to live her life all over again, as she would have chosen it. She wanted nothing but best for both of them. Was that so wrong?  
  
*  
  
Neo heralded the birth of his first child with trepidation. It was something he couldn't quite put his finger on, but it was there, like a splinter in his mind.   
  
He had tried to love Persephone. She was everything a man could want, his friends - who seemed to have known him since the day he docked at this strange land - were quick to point out.   
  
'If I had the Queen as my wife,' said Patroclus, the captain of his guard and the closest person to being a best friend as Neo's rank would allow him, 'I wouldn't be out here drinking with us in taverns like these. I would be home with her every night, scr-'  
  
Neo gave him a look.   
  
'Okay,' his friend interjected hastily. 'Don't mean any disrespect to the Queen. But you don't know what you've got there. When she looks at you, her eyes light up, as though you're her whole reason for her existence, or something. Have you seen that?'  
  
Yes. He had seen it. It had made him feel guilty as hell.   
  
'I'm a good husband to her.'  
  
He really was. He made sure all her needs were taken care of, whatever it was in his means to provide (since she was Queen anyway, nothing material was required of him). He accompanied her to state occasions, temple gatherings and sumptuous parties given in their honor by the gentry. He made love to her almost daily, even when she was hugely pregnant, taking care to make it pleasurable for her. Lovemaking was something she was very good at, being boundlessly creative and having the means to enact both their fantasies. He enjoyed all their intimate contacts, which were plagued only by his guilt that he wasn't really in love with her.  
  
He was very fond of her however. He did love her in a fashion; the kind of love one had for a friend who had been very good to him; a love grown over time, much mingling and many good deeds. But it was not the head-over-heels passion the romantics write poems about and died for. Unlike Patroclus, he was not quick to dismiss such stories, because somewhere in some strange netherworld, he knew he had loved and experienced thus.   
  
'Another life maybe?' Patroclus ventured.  
  
'Perhaps.' Neo frowned. 'I'm trying to think back to my earlier years back home. But the only thing I can remember are some hunting memories with my brother and father. I don't remember any girlfriends, or people at court. At least you'd think I'd remember someone I had loved like that. But no.'  
  
'It was the blow on your head. Wipes out everything. Probably it was the Queen. This love thing is overrated anyway.'  
  
'No. If it had been Persephone, I would have known it. It was someone else.'  
  
'You're not going to hurt her, are you?' His best friend arched an eyebrow. 'She's still my Queen and I'm sworn to protect her.'  
  
'I would never hurt her.' He knew what Patroclus was referring to. There were many women in court who did not mind catching the eye of the Prince consort, Queen or no Queen, and the temptations came daily. But he respected Persephone too much for that. Besides, he had never been really interested. Even his excessive lovemaking to his wife had been a form of compensation for not loving her enough.   
  
Unless....  
  
There were moments when the floodgates threatened to break through. Like when he was looking outside a glass window stained green, and the rain was spattering against it. The water running down vertically in tiny rivulets down the green glass had awoken some unsung memory inside him, and he had raised one hand in wonder to touch the surface -  
  
'Neo?' Persephone had come up behind him. 'What are you looking at?' She had appeared concerned.  
  
The moment had been shattered like the tinkling of glass, and the images hidden by a hastily flung veil.   
  
'Nothing,' he had assured her, kissing her on the cheek and absent-mindedly rubbing her swollen belly. 'It is nothing.'  
  
*  
  
If Neo had any doubts about having a child with someone he wasn't truly in love with, they were dispelled the moment he laid eyes on his son. The tiny squalling babe was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Holding hands with his wife, the child sleeping between them, he had no misgivings whatsoever they had created something wondrous; and life just felt so right. For the first time in many years, he had a moment of absolute peace.   
  
Couples who had children later in life usually made better parents. Neo and Persephone, backed by a Queendom's largesse and an inherited sense of twenty-second century child-rearing techniques, were among the best. They infused their son Hermes, named after the Messenger god, with all the values worthy of a royal heir from an early age.   
  
He was taught to be courteous to everybody, even the lowest scullery maid, and that to abuse his position's power was unworthy of a monarch. He was taught to cherish all life, and to take from nature only what was needed. He was taught the best thing you could do for the needy was not to give them what they needed, but to instill in them a sense of pride and an ability to procure it for themselves. He was taught knowledge was power, and to share it was even greater.   
  
Raising Hermes was such a joy and success that when the boy was three, Neo and Persephone had another child. She was named Demeter, after Persephone's mother. While Hermes was a pensive, thoughtful child who liked to read and take long reflective walks by himself, Demeter was noisy and gregarious, with an appetite for life that was as bountiful as it was exhausting.   
  
'She certainly doesn't take after me,' Neo said.   
  
'Nor me,' Persephone said. 'It must have been one of our ancestors.'  
  
Since neither of them had any true ancestors in this world, she knew that was highly unlikely.   
  
Now that they had two children and they were both well into middle age - Neo was forty-five and she one year younger, though her actual age numbered a good many more moons than that - they had settled into a comfortable rhythm of family life and routine. The program had allowed them to age with the rest of the world; it was one of the mode settings she had insisted upon: the ability to grow old along with someone and to experience the best of what poets like Robert Browning said life would offer thereafter. It was both the gift and the price of mortality.   
  
Neo had aged well, with the physical appearance of a man ten years younger. She supposed it was in his genetics, which were an equal mix of Polynesian, Oriental and Caucasian - not that he knew it; in this world, he supposedly came from a completely white ancestry. His exoticness was reflected too in the faces of their children, especially Demeter, who was already using her sloe-eyed charms to bend adults and other toddlers to her will.  
  
Persephone too had aged well. At first she had been apprehensive, she who was immortal and had never seen a silken gray hair on her impeccable coiffure, or a wrinkle on her perfect Latin features. But it was more pleasant than she had initially thought. There was a sense of passage and progress, like milestones achieved on a sand hourglass.   
  
Something more wonderful had come between them however. Her husband had begun to love her the way she wanted him to. It had happened somewhere in the middle of teaching Hermes to walk and deciding as a couple to have Demeter. It was a deep-seated love of respect and mutual trust, of loyalty and acceptance. It was the love that many Eastern brides have come to develop for their husbands from arranged marriages, whom they have only met on the wedding day. It took time like many other good things - sometimes over many years - but it was well worth the wait.   
  
As long as she had the love of her husband and her children, even her inevitable mortality was a price worth paying.   
  
*  
  
'Are we lost, father?'  
  
'Not yet, but I'll tell you when we are.'   
  
Neo had made a promise to himself to always be honest with his children, even if it meant admitting fallibility. He regretted it sometimes. He had been riding into the Eastern forest with seven-year-old Hermes and an entourage of four guards, but the two of them had become separated from the rest when Hermes stopped to examine a rare privet moth fluttering on a gossamer bush.   
  
The danger of being alone in the forest was always brigands, who preyed on travelers. He had strived for years with Patroclus to rid the passageways of outlaws and thieves but no matter how hard they tried, there was never enough manpower to patrol the entire country. Unless of course he raised the salaries of the prefecture to attract more recruits, which meant resetting the entire civil servants' pay scale and getting the revenue from either increased taxes on trade or the citizens.   
  
No one ever said running a government was easy.   
  
Even as he thought about it, he heard a rustling of bush and the crack of a twig. A dozen men suddenly sprung out of nowhere to surround them. Most of them were armed with staffs and clubs, but there were two archers with trained arrows at Hermes and himself.   
  
'We'll take those horses, thank you.' A man who appeared to be the leader sauntered up and grasped the bridle of Neo's all black charger. 'And relieve you of your purse, as well as that ring.' He pointed at Neo's wedding band, which was simple white gold garnished with a star sapphire the cost of several third world kingdoms.   
  
'Father...'   
  
'It's all right, son, they're just possessions.' He had taught Hermes the rote. If apprehended, never let on whom you really are if they don't know already.   
  
They were forced to dismount. Neo was stripped of his ring and his cloak, which was a rich wool woven from sheep in the Aramaic mountains. Hermes had to give up his golden circlet, a good luck charm given to him by his mother.   
  
'Thank you for your generosity,' said the lead brigand. 'We apologize however for having to take your son. He would do well in the child mines of Perugia.'  
  
Neo felt a potent fury surge through him. He had outlawed slavery in the queendom, but he couldn't do anything about the next state, unless he asked Persephone to invade it. If he managed to get Hermes out of this, he would personally hunt down every brigand in the country.   
  
It's your fault, he told himself. You allowed this to happen. You shouldn't have allowed him to stop and ask the others to go ahead. Some responsible father you are.   
  
If they required him to trade in his life for Hermes, he would do it in an instant. But he would have to have a strategy first. He eyed the two archers. They were the wild card in the equation, why he couldn't engage the group in immediate hand to hand combat.   
  
'Threatening children now, are we, Dahak?'   
  
Everyone turned to the female voice that had spoken. A black-clad woman with a drawn bow was aiming her arrow at the leader. Neo felt himself stiffen when he saw her - she had very short dark hair, blue eyes, an angular face and a no-nonsense demeanor that suggested she was every bit as deadly as she was striking. A wave of déjà vu swept through him, his strongest yet, and he knew he had known her somehow in his blurry past. And he knew with conviction he had loved this woman before with the world-hurtling, heart-wrenching passion he had described to Patroclus.   
  
(her name was just at the tip of his mind....it was)  
  
'Stay out of this, Trois,' Dahak replied. 'It's none of your business.'  
  
Trois!   
  
In trepidation, he raised his eyes to meet that of the woman's.   
  
TBC  
  
P/s: Weird? Think I've veered off course the main story despite my assurances that I haven't? (Though I need a kick now and then to remind myself to keep on track). Whatever your thoughts are, pls R and R me a line. 


	8. The Power of Three

Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me. They are all property of the Wachowski brothers and Warner Bros.  
  
Busy, busy, busy. But thank goodness I'm on leave now so I'll have a little time to write. I'll try to wrap this up. Oh, Mara Trinity Scully, thanks for all your lovely comments. The reason why I'm not a shipper of anyone in particular in the Matrix series is a very shallow one. The only ship I've ever liked for Keanu Reeves is the one with Sandra Bullock 10 years ago in Speed. I thought they had great chemistry and nothing ever held a candle to that for me to this day. .  
  
Anyway, I stink at Greek names. Seeing how the W brothers borrow names from mythology, I've decided to do the same. Check out the homage paid to Greek mythology, the Illiad and even Season 3 of Xena, Warrior Princess.  
  
Chapter 8: The Power of Three  
  
Rated PG-13.  
  
The woman flickered a look at Neo, still keeping her arrow trained on the brigand leader, and averted her gaze back to its focus. There was no sign of recognition in her eyes.  
  
'I'll cut you a deal, Dahak,' she said emotionlessly. 'You let the boy and his father go, and I'll let you live.'  
  
Some of the men tittered at this. Dahak smiled and spread his palms. 'Twelve of us and only one of you. You have always been bold, Trois. Do not underestimate my affection for you for foolishness.'  
  
'It doesn't matter what my odds are or how many men you have.' She bent the belly of the bow with the drawstring and narrowed her gaze. 'This arrow still has your name on it and if your men move against either the boy or me, I'll let it fly. And what matters is you'd still be dead. Life means a lot more to you than it does to me, my beloved. Are you willing to take that risk?'  
  
Neo held his breath. Beside him, Hermes held tightly to his hand, making no sound. The woman and Dahak locked gazes for what seemed like an eternity.  
  
Then Dahak bowed with a flourish. 'Very well, you win this round, Trois. But I will take the horses, the cape and the jewelry.'  
  
'That should keep you out of trouble for a while,' Trois replied. She beckoned to Neo and Hermes to get behind her.  
  
They watched the brigands collect their possessions, bridle their horses and turn to leave. 'They're taking Wind, father,' Hermes whispered, gripping Neo's arm. The boy was very attached to his horse.  
  
'It's all right,' Neo whispered back. 'We'll get him back one day, I promise.'  
  
'Don't bet on it,' Trois, who overheard them, interjected. She turned her dark blue eyes on them, especially on him, to size them up. 'You're not from around here, are you? Richly dressed for these parts. Foolish too, I gather, if you go around wearing jewelry like that.'  
  
'Do I know you from somewhere?' Neo found his heart beating fast. He suddenly realized he did want to know this. Very, very badly.  
  
Trois ran a speculative eye over him. 'I don't think so.' She smiled mirthlessly. 'You would have remembered.'  
  
'Yes, I would have.' Neo held her gaze. 'Was that your lover? Boyfriend? Are you an outlaw yourself?'  
  
'So many questions. The sky darkens unfortunately, and I have to be off.'  
  
She turned to walk away.  
  
'Wait,' Neo said. 'We are lost, and my son is frightened and hungry. We owe you for saving us, and if you'll let us come with you, I'll find a way to reward you richly.'  
  
Trois stopped in mid-stride. She made a striking figure in the dappled sunlight, Neo thought, like a sleek raven amidst the green-gold of the forest. Her angular bony curves, the proud tilt of her head - it was as though he had known it from memory. As though he had caressed the pale flesh beneath the black leather jerkin, and kissed those eyes that were now staring at him in bright blue repose.  
  
He was aware he was extremely attracted to her in a way he had never experienced before, not even with his wife, the most beautiful woman in the queendom.  
  
By the gods, what was happening to him? He was a happily married man with two children. And yet, this attraction he had for Trois seemed so..right. Like the way it was meant to be. For one revelatory moment, he suddenly grasped the meaning of soulmates.  
  
'Very well,' she said. 'But only because of the boy. Quickly now, before he comes back.'  
  
'Thank you.' Neo grabbed Hermes's hand and fell into stride with her. 'Before who comes back?'  
  
'Dahak. My husband.'  
  
So he was not the only one with complications.  
  
'My name is Neo,' he said, meeting her gaze, wondering if his name held any meaning for her.  
  
'I know,' she said simply.  
  
*  
  
They spent the night in Trois's modest hut because the southern winds had blown in a fine old storm from the sea. Neo knew Persephone would be scouring the ends of the earth for him and Hermes, and he felt terribly guilty for putting her through this. He hoped she wouldn't take it out on his guardsmen - she was an extremely fair monarch - but despair and frustration often led people to do ruthless things. Nevertheless, they would be in the nearest village by tomorrow, and he would be able to send word to her.  
  
There was another reason for his guilt. The urge to act on his attraction was overwhelming. When he had tucked Hermes in the little makeshift bed Trois had made for him in one corner, he sat down with her at the fireplace to talk.  
  
'You know who I am,' he said as a matter-of-factly.  
  
'Yes.'  
  
'Does that bother you?'  
  
'It's the reason I saved you. 'Twould be a pity if you had to die before finishing all the things you said you'd do for the common people.'  
  
He smiled grimly. 'It's a never-ending job. That would include cleaning up after folks like your husband.'  
  
She shrugged. 'Makes no difference to me. We're separated.'  
  
'Any reason in particular?'  
  
'Irreconcilable differences.'  
  
'You're not one for small talk, are you?'  
  
'You're a married man.'  
  
'And you don't make small talk with married men?'  
  
'I see the way you look at me. Things can be...complicated.'  
  
Was he that obvious? Then again, perhaps he was. He had never been too good at hiding his emotions, especially when they showed in his eyes. He knew he hadn't fooled Persephone for a minute, even after all these years. She knew he didn't love her as she should have been loved, wonderful wife and mother that she was.  
  
'Are you offended? The fact I'm attracted to you?'  
  
'No.' Her blue eyes were trained upon him steadfastly. 'It's flattering. And dangerous.'  
  
Yes. He knew about the danger. But he couldn't help himself. For the first time as far as he could remember, thoughts about betraying his wife were crowding his mind. He had never been tempted before, but now - well into his middle age and the rest of his life - he felt a stirring in his heart matched only by that in his loins. It was a joyous emotion, one of summer and bright meadow romps, almost as though he was beginning to live for the very first time.  
  
Then again, there was Persephone. She had done nothing to deserve this, but he couldn't help the way he felt.  
  
Taking Trois's hand, he said, 'This may seem foolish to you, seeing as we've just met, but it's like I've been searching for you all my life. And now that I've found you, I think I'm in love with you.'  
  
After a prolonged pause - and he was certain he had frightened her off - she lowered her eyes, seemingly unable to meet his. 'I know. And somehow, that doesn't surprise me.'  
  
In shock, he realized she was as attracted to him as he was to her. The concept of soul mates and whatever he had discussed with Patroclus suddenly took flesh and became corporeal.  
  
'So what do we do now?' he asked, more himself than her.  
  
'I don't know. I guess that's entirely up to you.'  
  
*  
  
Since the day he came back ten years ago with Hermes in tow, tousled but safe, she had known. It was in the embrace he gave her when she swept into his arms after having her search patrols comb the entire countryside for him all night. She had been worried sick for both her son and for him, and when she held him again, vowing never to let him out of her sight again, she could discern something had changed. It was in the way he averted his eyes, the way he kissed her and made love to her later that night, with a sprightly gusto of a man half his age, as though he had been infused with new life.  
  
As the months went by and he seemed to lose none of his vigor, she had sent Patroclus to trail him.  
  
'Please, my Queen,' Patroclus had said, his face clouding, 'don't ask me to do this. He is like a brother to me.'  
  
'That is why you have his confidence. If you love me, Patroclus, you would do it.'  
  
And so he had. He had come back with reports of a dark-haired woman in the woods. When he had described her, Persephone felt her body stiffen all over. But surely -  
  
She had to see this woman for herself.  
  
'As far as I can tell, my Queen,' Patroclus said, 'they are not having an affair. He visits her. They take walks together and they talk. But their relationship is completely platonic.'  
  
'Even you cannot see everything that goes on behind closed doors, Patroclus.'  
  
Patroclus shook his head. 'Believe me, my Queen. I have been in this business most of my life. I have my ways. They have not been physically intimate, though I cannot comment on what goes on within their hearts.'  
  
That was what she feared the most. If it had been pure lust, she would have been able to handle it. So she had hidden herself in the forest to look at the face of this woman for herself. Although she had prepared herself for it, the shock of seeing Trinity revealed again - or at least an aberrant program who looked, talked and moved like Trinity by some amazing computer glitch (or kismet) - was nothing short of terrifying.  
  
How in the world  
  
(oh my god she's haunting me)  
  
had this happened? The odds were a million to one, unless the sim world program - being too large and unwieldy, almost as though it was a part of the Matrix itself - had run through its database of all known humans, and being unable to come up with any more preconceived manifestations, had adopted their forms and faces. Then again, perhaps there was something more to it, a kind of revelation here or some divine power at work, allowing her no escape from her trespass. It was as though the god of the computers was taunting her - 'You knew it was wrong to steal him away from her, and yet you did. So here is her revenge. She will take him back, in one life or another.'  
  
It was like some sort of cosmic joke, and Persephone was more frightened than amused.  
  
For a moment, she wondered if the real Trinity had hacked into her perfect sim world, and decided she had not. The warning scanners she had set all round the periphery would have gone off, and as of now, the world was still intact. No. This was a sign. And for the first time, Persephone began to wonder about the existence of a higher force.  
  
She had allowed them to carry on, wondering if some deep, dark part of her reveled in this self-punishment. She was aware of how easy it would be to have Trois incapacitated, or even deleted. But her years of living with Neo and her children had changed her, filled her with an empathy she had not known possible, and she knew killing Trois was beneath the person she had now become, no matter how much their relationship wounded her.  
  
It was all up to him now. She would not, and could not, do anything.  
  
'Come back to me, Neo,' she whispered to him in his sleep. Outwardly, his relationship with her and the children had changed little. He still spoilt Demeter to death. He was still as proud of Hermes's scholarship skills as any father would be. And he was still the kind, attentive husband he had always been, only he was now more fulfilled. More complete.  
  
Was it so wrong to want that for him?  
  
So for ten years, she watched them as they all aged together, knowing that she deserved this somewhat and suffering the only way she knew how - in silence. In all that time, his relationship with the woman from the woods had never descended into a physical one, and for that, Persephone was grateful. Even when faced with the greatest challenge his heart had ever known, Neo remained faithful to his wife, noble till the very end.  
  
How she regretted what must happen now. But she had no choice.  
  
TBC  
  
P/s: Hee hee, I'm finishing this story soon. Like it? Dislike it? Drop me a note. 


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